


Human Enough

by Smalls404



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (somewhat?), Attempted Suicide Mention, Compulsion, Eating Disorder, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin is very caring and sweet and Jon doesn't feel like he deserves it, Self-Loathing, chubby martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalls404/pseuds/Smalls404
Summary: “Jon…” Martin said, a clear uneasiness in his voice. He walked over to him, putting the cup of tea down on the desk. He moved quickly, Jon feeling nervous as Martin approached closer. Please, Jon thought, just leave me. I don’t want to hurt you.“Jon, you look so…” as Martin trailed off, Jon could think of a thousand words to fill the blank. Old, tired, ugly, skinny…“Weak,” Martin said, his voice soft. Jon felt his heart start to beat faster, two sides of a coin flipping quickly back and forth. On one side, Jon wanted so desperately for Martin to care, to notice his weakness— it was human nature to want to be noticed, a remainder from who Jon used to be. On the other side, the sooner he noticed, the sooner he’d try to stop what Jon knew he must do.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Jon struggles with his new-found abilities, and the fact that he doesn't feel human anymore. Martin reminds him that he's human enough.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 48
Kudos: 701





	Human Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a fic and I mostly wrote it for myself but figured I'd post it here because why not.

_ 5 days. _

_ 5 days? Had that really been all?  _

_ Not even _ , Jon thought to himself, looking over at the clock and focusing as best he could on the seemingly small, jittery numbers. 11:45AM. He still had fifteen minutes before he hit 5 days without reading a statement or…  _ extracting _ a statement. Or sleeping, for that matter. 

Sometime around midnight last night— after he had finished with being sick, unable to keep anything down lately— he had left his apartment and trudged over to the Magnus Institute, torturing himself with the presence of thousands of statements that he was currently trying to stay away from. But really, he had two battles to choose between— sleeping or…  _ eating _ . Even thinking those words, that sick perversion of what his life had become, made him shudder. 

Either way, it was harder to resist sleep when he was alone with his thoughts, and his empty apartment. At least at the Magnus Institute he could wander the cold, sterile halls, clean through his desk, scrub down the bathroom sinks… anything but reading statements or sleeping. 

_ A monster _ , Basira had called him. Such a violent word, a word which only stung so viciously due to its frightening reality. She was right, and Jon was becoming more and more afraid of who—  _ what _ , he was becoming. 

Resisting sleep and statements had its perks. For one, he was lethargic, shaky, weak… hardly able to read, or walk, or do anything. The less strength Jon had… 

The less likely it was he would hurt someone. 

Jon had been staring at his hands for some time now, he realized. Entranced by the way they shook despite the fact that he wasn’t exerting any sort of effort, Jon watched his hands— they seemed so wrinkled, a perfect match for his early greying hair— as they shook like static on tv. 

_ Coffee _ . He thought to himself.  _ Coffee should help.  _

Jon was hardly aware of himself as he stood up from his desk, hoisting himself up with considerable effort, that he was barely aware that someone was at the door. 

“Where are you headed?” 

Jon looked up, eyes wide, and witnessed Martin. Jon tried to resist the thoughts that flooded into his head upon the arrival of a person into his previously hollow space. Birthplace, elementary school attended, town he grew up in— 

“Coffee,” Jon answered stiffly, trying desperately to quiet the Knowing that seemed to follow him everywhere now, another curse he was burdened with.

Martin smiled sweetly, and Jon felt his heart jump in a way he couldn’t control, especially not being as weak as he felt in that exact moment. He was sure his cheeks must have been burning, and he felt embarrassment rush through him. He felt childish, but more than that, he felt that burning shame that comes with knowing you do not deserve something. Not that Jon had to worry about that, for he was sure that Martin wouldn’t reciprocate.

Especially not now, with Jon being what he is. Even his human appearance— it hurts him so deeply to think that he is only human in way of instant perception, that he can no longer claim himself the same being as kind Martin— is not worthy of reciprocation. Greying hair, small stature, and (at the moment at least) shaking hands, a jaunt face, bloodshot eyes. 

“Wonderful idea. Perfect morning for it, really. I would be doing the same if I weren’t swearing off coffee for the time being,” Martin answered in that cheerful voice of his.

Jon couldn’t stop himself before he said it. He didn’t even realize he was doing it before it was too late. 

“ **Why are you swearing off?”**

Jon covered his mouth the moment he said it, his eyes widening. He felt sick to his stomach.

He wouldn’t be able to explain this to anyone else, how he wanted to know things, anything. How he wanted to know anything he could about Martin, how he was so  _ hungry _ . 

“I’m trying to watch my weight, I’ve been gaining weight since things have gotten more and more stressful around here,” Martin replied, his face burning with embarrassment as he realized he had said something he hadn’t wanted to. Jon nearly wanted to cry— if he could control himself, if he wasn’t so fucking inhuman, if he— 

“I’m—” Martin stuttered, still red from neck to forehead to ears, “I’m sorry— I don’t know why I brought that up— I’m not— I don’t think that—” Martin scrambled for a way to make things better, like he always did, but Jon was too ashamed to listen to Martin try to make the situation light. 

It was very dark indeed. 

Jon pushed past Martin, trying desperately to hold himself together until he was out of Martin’s sight. 

Martin watched after him, feeling deeply unsettled. 

* * *

Jon had been avoiding Martin since yesterday. How could he face him after what he’d done?

He technically had control of compulsion, but how could Martin understand how desperate he was? No, the very explaining of it would only make Martin see Jon for what he was now. 

The room spun around Jon, rotating over and over as though Jon were on a merry go round. He didn’t know how long he had been staring off, eyes barely staying open as Jon thought through yesterday’s events on loop. The statement’s proximity to him was making him feel even more lightheaded— somewhat seasick, really, but Jon had gotten used to the nausea that came with the essential deprivation he was undertaking. 

If it wasn’t for a knock at the door, Jon wouldn’t have noticed the time passing. 

“Jon?” Martin called in from outside the door. Jon felt panic bolt through him.  _ I’ll pretend I’m not here _ , Jon thought desperately. 

“I know you’re in there. Your car’s still outside,” Martin said. Was that worry in his voice?  _ Of course it was _ , Jon thought with an awful churn in his stomach.  _ Even after what I did, he still cares about me.  _

Jon stared down at the floor to steady his vision, to prepare himself for Martin.  _ That won’t last.  _

Martin opened the door, one hand on the door knob, the other wrapped around the handle of a cup of tea. Jon could still see the steam coming off of it, so it must’ve been made fairly recently. 

“Jon…” Martin said, a clear uneasiness in his voice. He walked over to him, putting the cup of tea down on the desk. He moved quickly, Jon feeling nervous as Martin approached closer.  _ Please _ , Jon thought,  _ just leave me. I don’t want to hurt you.  _

“Jon, you look so…” as Martin trailed off, Jon could think of a thousand words to fill the blank.  _ Old, tired, ugly, skinny… _

“ _ Weak, _ ” Martin said, his voice soft. Jon felt his heart start to beat faster, two sides of a coin flipping quickly back and forth. On one side, Jon wanted so desperately for Martin to care, to notice his weakness— it was human nature to want to be noticed, a remainder from who Jon used to be. On the other side, the sooner he noticed, the sooner he’d try to stop what Jon knew he must do. 

“I’m fine,” Jon said, or at least tried to say. From the look on Martin’s face, he could tell that maybe he had mumbled it instead. 

“Have you eaten today?” Martin asked, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder. The motion felt so foreign… had Martin ever touched him before? From the blush that came across Jon’s face, he was guessing it was not commonplace. Jon hated how desperately he wanted this, wanted to be touched, held, even a simple hand on the shoulder felt like more affection than he had experienced in a long time. 

“Jon?” Martin said, kneeling in front of Jon. Jon felt anxious all of the sudden. How long had he been quiet? Had he dozed off? 

“Did I fall asleep?” Jon asked desperately. Martin looked confused at this, concern spreading across his face. 

“No… why?” Martin put both hands now on Jon’s shoulders, and he looked into Jon’s eyes with an expression completely foreign to Jon.  _ Maybe it was realization _ , Jon thought mournfully,  _ maybe this time he’s put it together. Why I have to put myself through this, why I don’t deserve food or sleep anymore, why— _

“Jon, what’s going on with you?” Martin asked, his voice rising. “You don’t look well… did someone do something to you?” 

Before Jon could answer, he put his hand on the desk to lift himself up. He needed to get out of here, he needed—

Next thing he knew, he was laying on the ground, Martin standing over him with— were those tears? 

_ Is he afraid?  _

“Martin— please,” Jon could tell he wasn’t clear. He tried again, “please just leave me, just go home. I can’t—” 

“Jon, don’t be an idiot,” Martin said quickly, near tersely. “Something is wrong with you, we need to take care of you—” 

“No,” Jon said, trying desperately to lift himself up. He noticed blood on the ground where he had laid. He felt his forehead, felt the cut there, which was slowly healing up. He pushed his hair in front of the scar, wanting foolishly to hide these… abilities... from Martin for as long as possible. “I need to stay awake, I need—” 

“Staying awake is the  _ last  _ thing you need, Jon,” Martin said sternly, helping Jon to sit up by grabbing his sides and hoisting him up. Jon hoped miserably that Martin didn’t feel how thin he was, how his ribs had started poking out over the past few weeks. Once Martin and Jon were at eye level, Martin looked at Jon, trying to figure something out. Jon avoided Martin’s eyes, shame rising to his face as Martin studied him— his kind, round face paying close attention to Jon in a way that Jon wasn’t used to. 

Suddenly, Martin’s expression changed to one of understanding. 

_ Fuck _ , Jon thought.  _ He’ll see me for what I am. A monster, a freak, fucking inhuman— _

Instead of his expression hardening however, it softened. 

“Jon…” Martin said sweetly, putting a hand on Jon’s jaunt face. He lifted his face up to meet his eyes, something Jon avoided desperately. Martin opened his mouth, closed it as he thought better of it, opened it again. “Why don’t you come to my house? Get some rest?” 

Jon felt confusion, as his brain scrambled for an explanation. This must have been clear by Jon’s expression, as Martin quickly acted to explain himself. 

“Not— not in a  _ weird _ way, I promise… I just— it’s midnight, and I know you haven’t been home since yesterday… and—” he halted suddenly, looking at Jon with worry. “I know you haven’t recorded a statement since nearly a week ago now—” 

Jon felt a shame so deep fill him that his expression grew fierce. “ _ That _ is  _ none  _ of your concern, Martin,” he said angrily, “I don’t need you  _ monitoring  _ me, Martin—”

“Apparently you fucking do!” Martin said tersely. Jon was taken aback, his angry expression dissipating immediately. Jon went quiet. 

“Listen, we— we all know you  _ need  _ them, it’s not a secret, okay? We know that you need statements, and frankly it’s irresponsible of you to  _ not  _ be reading them— considering what we found out you were doing last month—” 

“I don’t  _ want _ to need them!” Jon yelled, interrupting Martin. He could feel tears burning in his eyes, he couldn’t help it. He was too weak to stop them from falling. “I can get on without them. I can— I have!” 

Martin went quiet at this, mortification slowly dancing across his face. His expression was so tender, Jon hid his face from him to save what little dignity he had. 

“ _ Jon…”  _ Martin said softly. Jon felt his head pulsing, a swift reminder that he was truly not well. 

“Leave me, Martin,” Jon said quietly. _I don’t deserve you,_ Jon thought quietly. _You don’t deserve_ _me._

Martin was quiet for a moment. Finally: “Why are you doing this to yourself, Jon?” 

Jon tried to speak past the lump in his throat. “I’m tired of hurting people. I’m—” it was getting more and more difficult to do so, “I-I’m tired of hurting you.” 

Jon hung his head after he said it, trying again to hide his pooling eyes. Martin laughed softly. 

“When have you hurt me, Jon?” Martin looked at him kindly, and it only damned Jon further. Martin was too sweet to realize how horrible Jon was becoming. Jon felt a tingling in his brain, a needy voice screaming within him.  _ How much have I hurt you, Martin? When have I hurt you? How have I hurt you— _

Jon gritted his teeth, trying with as much strength as he could muster not to let the question escape. 

“Jon…” Martin said, “Please… come home with me.” 

Jon dared to look up, dared to see if he was genuine. 

He was. 

Jon felt the fight leave him. 

“Will… will you make sure I don’t fall asleep?” Jon asked quietly. Martin shook his head. Jon thought of a better way to phrase it. 

“Will you… will you make sure I don’t…  _ hurt… _ anyone?” Jon asked, in such a pleading voice. Martin’s face crumbled. 

“You won’t.” 

* * *

When Martin lifted Jon up off the floor, he felt a deep worry pit through him.  _ He’s so light…  _ he thought to himself. He pushed the jealousy he had spent years unlearning down as he felt Jon’s thin sides in between his hands. Once Jon was off the floor, Martin could still see the redness in his eyes. 

“My car is right outside, so it won’t be a long walk,” Martin said, trying to comfort Jon. Instead of Jon looking comforted, he only looked down at the ground. 

Martin opened the door for Jon, noticing how he not so much sat himself down as fell into the seat, still avoiding Martin’s eyes. He looked so guilty. 

Martin started the car, driving them to his flat.  _ Jon’s never seen my flat, _ Martin thought to himself with a dull sense of worry.  _ How weird, to bring my boss into my flat.  _

Martin looked over at Jon, who was clutching his sides in what Martin assumed that Jon thought was discrete.  _ Everything is weird.  _

He held onto Jon as he unlocked the door, Jon’s arm resting over Martin’s shoulder. Once the door was unlocked, Martin thanked his lucky stars that he had bothered to clean earlier.

He took Jon over to the couch, sitting him down as gently as he could. He looked for Jon to make eye contact, trying to get a gauge for how he was feeling right now. Jon refused to look at him. 

Martin sighed. “Let me make you some tea, yeah?” 

He busied himself with filling the kettle, opening his drawer full of different teas. “Do you have a preference?” he called into the living room. Jon was quiet for a few moments. 

“Whatever you made earlier tonight smelled good,” he said softly. Martin barely heard him, were it not for the silence of the apartment. It was always quiet, considering Martin lived alone. Martin nodded, setting the kettle to boil and placing the tea packet into the cup in preparation. 

“I’m—” Jon started, then went silent again. Martin looked towards him, cup still in hand. 

“What is it?” Martin asked. Jon took in a deep breath, looking to the side, still avoiding Martin’s eyes. 

“I’m so sorry I asked you…” he halted again. “I’m sorry I…  _ compelled _ you… yesterday.” 

Jon looked so miserable it made Martin want to cry. He put the cup down quickly, walking back towards Jon and sitting next to him on the couch. Jon moved away, ashamed. 

“Jon…” Martin started, “is that what this is all about?”

Jon nodded, although Martin knew it wasn’t just this, but a culmination. He thought back to the horrified expression Jon had made, walking away from Martin as quickly as he could. 

Martin allowed the quiet to sit for a second longer. “Y’know… I didn’t mind sharing that information. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” 

“You did,” Jon said flatly. His face reddened, and he covered his mouth with a shaky hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Now it was Martin’s turn to blush. He was embarrassed— embarrassed that Jon knew that he had been gaining weight. Embarrassed that he knew he was ashamed of it. 

“It’s… okay,” Martin said. He didn’t know what to say, moving only when he heard the dull whistle of the kettle starting to boil. He got up, pouring one cup, then thinking better of it and pouring one for himself as well. 

He brought it over, sitting it in front of Jon. He stirred his packet around for a few seconds, sighing. 

“I know you didn’t mean to compel me, Jon. I could tell by your expression.” 

Jon closed his eyes, nodding ever so slightly. Martin placed a hand on his shoulder, the motion feeling so natural. Jon pulled away, making Martin feel self-conscious all of the sudden. 

“Martin…” Jon said, looking guilty, “I don’t want you to not feel  _ safe  _ around me. I—” he cleared his throat, scratching at his head. “I care about you.” 

Martin tried not to let that get to his head, or his heart. Martin went still for a moment, wondering if he meant it in the way Martin felt it. 

“I care about you too, Jon,” Martin said, although not as loudly as he might have meant to. He cleared his throat. “I don’t feel unsafe, really, I mean it.” He went quiet for a second, weighing his options. “You can…  _ ask,  _ if you want to—”

“ _ Absolutely not _ , Martin,” Jon said severely, “I am not doing that to you again, it’s- it’s not right.” He faltered at the end. 

“Jon,” Martin said softly, “let’s get you to bed, yeah?” he looked over him, surveying him, “you don’t look well. Let’s at least get you some sleep, and then tomorrow—” 

“I’m not sleeping Martin,” Jon said harshly. Martin was taken aback by the forcefulness, and he felt himself step back instinctually. Jon’s face instantly translated to hurt, which he immediately tried to hide.  _ I’m going to have to be stern with him _ , Martin thought,  _ or else he’ll never take care of himself.  _

“You’re going to have to,” Martin said. When Jon didn’t respond to this, he added: “you won’t hurt anyone Jon.” 

“I  _ have. _ I  _ will. _ If I don’t stop myself, I’ll hurt more people— you saw what I did, how I, I,  _ extracted  _ statements. You saw how I forced people to tell me about their most traumatic experiences and I just— I just left them with that. You  _ know  _ I appear in their dreams, in their horrific dreams—” 

“ _ Jon _ ,” Martin said, firmly putting two hands on Jon’s shoulders, “you’ve grown since then. There  _ is  _ a balance, you know. There’s a way for you to live without  _ killing  _ yourself.”

“I would if I could,” Jon spat at him. Martin’s eyes widened, shock apparent on his face. 

“Jon—” 

“If I could have  _ died,  _ I would have. It wouldn’t fucking let me. And I’ve  _ tried  _ Martin, I’ve honestly  _ tried,  _ but no matter what I do I- I-,” suddenly, like a damn breaking, tears flooded from Jon’s eyes and he sobbed, a noise so violent that Martin couldn’t help but pull Jon into his chest, stroking the back of his head as he felt Jon’s entire body shake with a force Martin had never seen from Jon before— always such a controlled, tempered person. 

“Jon, Jon— it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” Martin said as soothingly as he could, feeling his own eyes fill with tears. He couldn’t help it— he cared about Jon too much to hear something so horrible. At this, Jon only seemed to sob harder.

“I wish—” he said, his voice muffled into Martin’s chest. Martin lifted him away, to which Jon tried in vain to hide from his gaze, turning awkwardly to the side. “I wish I was human.” At the effort it took to say these words, Martin saw as two more tears fell down Jon’s face. Martin couldn’t help himself, he wiped them away, using his thumb to push them away as he held the sides of Jon’s face. He cracked a smile. 

“This all seems pretty human to me, wouldn’t you say?” Martin watched as the smallest glimpse of hope sparked across Jon’s eyes. 

Suddenly, Martin became aware of himself. He blushed, pulling his hands away and laughing awkwardly. 

“I’m— I’m sorry, that was a little forward,” he said, scratching at his cheeks nervously as he looked away. Jon opened his mouth to respond, then remained quiet.  _ Great _ , Martin thought,  _ now I really must look like a daft idiot.  _

He got up from the couch, noticing that out of the corner of his eye Jon scrubbed furiously at his eyes and face. “Why don’t I set you up in my bed? If— if you don’t mind, that is—” he saw as Jon’s face contorted into one of confusion, and felt his face redden, “no— not, not  _ with  _ me, of course not, I just— I want you to sleep somewhere comfortable— I’ll- I’m sleeping on the couch. Of course.” 

“No Martin, let me take the couch— I insist. After all, I’m a lot smaller than you, so the couch wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for me anyway. And besides, I’m a guest.” 

Martin felt his face burn again— he knew he wasn’t the smallest guy in the world, but the fact that Jon didn’t even think he could fit on the couch… even if he was right, it was embarrassing that all Jon had to do was to  _ look _ at Martin to see he was too fat for the couch.

“Right,” Martin said numbly. “If— if you want, that’s fine.” Martin began moving towards his bedroom, grabbing blankets and pillows from the closet.  _ This is the first time I’ve ever gotten to use any of these _ , Martin thought with a subdued sort of sadness. 

* * *

Jon was trying to puzzle out why Martin had looked so uncomfortable. Was it rude of him to take the couch? Maybe Martin really liked the couch?

Martin came back with a great number of pillows and blankets, piled high enough that Jon couldn’t see Martin until after he put them on the couch. 

“Well, that should do you good, yeah?” he sighed, giving Jon a tired smile. Jon’s head pulsed as he thought about the relief sleep would bring him, but he also felt anxiety rise throughout his stomach as he realized that he would be giving up, essentially. He couldn’t let himself do that. 

“I don’t—” 

“Whatever you’re gonna argue about how you shouldn’t sleep, I already disagree. You  _ aren’t  _ going to be able to convince me  _ Jonathan _ . There, see, I’m getting very serious with you,” Martin said, fussing over the blankets on the couch and fluffing the pillows as he placed them carefully at the edge. 

Jon sighed, taking off his coat as he set his head down on the pillow. He covered up quickly, trying to cover the significant number of scars he had gathered at this point. Apparently, his healing didn’t work for anything already scarred. Jon ran a finger across the scar he had gotten earlier, noticing it was already gone.

“Let me get a look at that,” Martin said, reaching for Jon’s hair. Jon pulled away instinctively, realizing too late that his reaction was overly dramatic. 

“I’m sorry, I- it’s perfectly fine.” 

Martin gave Jon a distrusting look. He suddenly felt like a misbehaving child, the way Martin mothered him. He sighed, lifting his hair up for Martin to see where the scar had once been. Realization danced across Martin’s face, and he masked it as quickly as he could by smiling nonchalantly. 

“Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” Martin picked up the two mugs of untouched tea, walking them over to the sink and dumping them out. Jon tried his best to get himself comfortable enough to fall asleep.  _ Maybe Martin does like this couch _ , he thought to himself.  _ It’s quite comfy.  _

It wasn’t the couch that was the problem, it was more the multitudes of pain that danced around Jon’s body at the moment. He had a migraine which pulsed every few seconds, his stomach hurt, he felt nauseous, his eyes burned (from both crying and lack of sleep), and his muscles felt achy in a way he couldn’t ignore. 

_ Here’s to trying _ , he thought to himself. Really, he didn’t want to sleep— it felt so wrong. But knowing that Martin wouldn’t respect him if he didn’t at least try… that changed things. 

* * *

Martin couldn’t stop thinking about Jon. He worried over him, worried about his lack of sleep, his emotional state, but more than that, he also couldn’t stop thinking about how Jon had shrunk away from his every touch, how he had commented on how much  _ smaller  _ he was than him. He didn’t want to think about it, but it spun around in his head over and over. 

Sure, Jon was entitled to his type… and very few people had chubby guys as their type, or at least that’s what Martin had noticed. Martin wondered numbly about what type of person Jon would be attracted to… he knew Georgie was fairly thin and short. Maybe this proof was the nail in the coffin. 

Martin couldn’t help the fact that he was putting on pounds— really, it was impossible. Martin had always struggled with his weight, but now every day at work felt like a new slew of impossible problems, and with Tim and Sasha passing away, and Jon constantly putting himself into harm’s way… yeah, it was impossible to avoid stress eating. 

Martin threw his shirt off, unbuckling his belt right as he heard the door open. 

“Martin— I, oh- oh sorr-” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine—” Martin said quickly, covering himself up as best as he could, pulling his pants back up and trying to cover up his torso with his arms. Jon seemed to eye him with an expression Martin didn’t understand— and if he didn’t understand it, it probably wasn’t a good sign. 

“I just wanted to ask—”

“Can you just step out for, like, ten seconds? Would that be possible?” Martin asked, clearly irritated. He couldn’t help it— he was embarrassed to be seen like that, he was embarrassed that Jon’s eyes tracked him up and down, taking in his full fat self. 

“Yes- I- sorry, of course,” Jon said quickly, turning around instead of leaving the room. Martin huffed out a breath of frustration, bending over to get his shirt and hating the way his stomach folded as he did so. Once he had it back on, and his belt looped and buckled again, he sighed again. 

“Okay, all set,” he said, somewhat annoyed. As Jon turned back around, Martin sat himself on the bed, running his hand through his hair. “What’s wrong?” 

“I- I can’t fall asleep,” Jon said sheepishly. “I know I sound so childish…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Martin said, patting the bed next to him for Jon to sit, noticing how he held onto the door frame for support. Jon walked slowly over to the bed, sitting down and staring forward, eyes drooping. Martin studied him, watched as his hands shook in his lap. 

_ Okay _ , Martin thought.  _ No point sleeping on an empty stomach.  _

“Come on,” Martin said, putting his hand around Jon’s waist and slinging his arm over his shoulder. Jon reacted with a start as soon as Martin’s hand touched him, but he didn’t pull away. 

“Where” Jon asked warily, very carefully. Martin helped him off the bed, walking them back into the living room. 

“We’re gonna get you something to eat,” Martin said, smiling at Jon encouragingly. Jon, however, didn’t seem encouraged. 

“Like— like a quick bite to eat at, at a fast food chain, or, or something?” Jon asked nervously. Martin’s heart lurched at the fact that Jon felt the need to lie— he knew that Jon didn’t feel hunger for food anymore. 

“No, Jon… we’re going back to the archives, alright?” At this, Jon halted them with surprising strength, skidding them to a stop before Martin could reach the door. 

“Martin,  _ no, _ I can’t, I— I’ve resisted it  _ this  _ long… I can do it, really—” 

“ _ Jon, _ ” Martin said firmly. Jon looked up at him, and Martin could see the desperation in his eyes. Martin wanted so badly to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay. “It’s okay to read the statements, you know? It’s okay.” 

“I—” 

“No Jon. I can’t watch you starve yourself anymore. You  _ won’t _ hurt anyone if you do, I promise. But you’re hurting yourself by not reading any, and I can’t just watch you do that, okay?” Martin tried his best to walk the line between gentle and firm. Jon’s face seemed to flush, the guilt coming back into his expression. Martin had an idea. 

“How about this,” Martin said. He opened a couple of cabinets, brought out a couple of ingredients— simple ones, ham, lettuce, bread, mayo— and put together a sandwich as Jon held himself up by using the counter, his expression complexed. Martin packaged it up, putting it in his bag before he slung it over his shoulder. He placed his arm across Jon’s waist again, helping him into the outside air as he unlocked the car. 

* * *

Jon felt shame burn through every inch of him as they walked into his office, Martin gently placing him in his office chair. Jon felt immediately so much more nauseous the minute he sat down, the statements seemingly calling out to him. He didn’t want Martin to see him like this, to see him affected by this place. 

He watched as Martin pulled out his sandwich, placing it in front of him as he pulled a seat up to the other side of the desk. “See? Now we’ll both be eating, and it won’t feel as awkward.” 

Jon knew this was meant to be comforting, and his heart ached for the kindness Martin afforded him, all kindness that he didn’t deserve. Instead of being comforted by this, however, he only felt disgusted with himself– that reading about people’s most horrific trauma was now equivalent to Martin eating a sandwich. He hated that it made him feel less hungry, he  _ hated  _ that ‘live’ statements made him feel even better. Monstrous, he was monstrous. 

“Jon?” Martin asked timidly. Jon came back to himself, realizing he was pressing his nails into his hands. He shook himself out of it, watching as Martin nervously pulled the sandwich out of the wrapping and placed it in front of him. “Do you want me to grab a statement for you?” 

Jon was so ashamed to have to nod his head, knowing he didn’t have the strength to say no, or to get it himself. Martin shuffled away, grabbing a statement and glossing over the title.

“Statement of… Mariah Thorn?” he asked tentatively. Jon knew he hadn’t heard it before just based on the name. He nodded his head, to which Martin brought it over and placed it in front of him. He sat himself across from Jon, lifting up the sandwich as Jon read over the description. 

Jon was having trouble reading the title, squinting as much as he could to try to get the letters to stay still, but they wavered nonetheless. Jon felt panic rise inside of him, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to read this statement. 

“Everything alright, Jon?” Martin asked quietly. When Jon looked up, he was covering his mouth with his hand, mid-bite it seemed. He looked somewhat sheepish, swallowing quickly and placing the sandwich down. 

Jon didn’t know how to say it, how to tell Martin that he was a lost cause. So he didn’t.

“No, everything’s fine, really,” Jon said. He paused, trying to insert some sort of normalcy into their bizarre interaction, “how’s the sandwich?” He was careful not to compel. 

“Good,” Martin said, “well, y’know. It’s fine. It’s not a five course meal or anything.” He laughed quietly, returning to his sandwich a few seconds later, covering his mouth with his hand again. 

“ **Why do you do** —” Jon slapped a hand over his mouth, shame burning through him.  _ Fuck _ .  _ Fuck. Fuck.  _

“Jon, what’s wrong?” Martin asked quickly. Jon felt his breathing get quicker. 

“I told you I wouldn’t do that— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

“It’s okay Jon, it’s fine, you didn’t compel me—” 

“I  _ could have _ ,” Jon said, panic no longer hidden. “What is  _ wrong  _ with me?” he asked despairingly. He hid his face in his hands, unable to face the way Martin surely must be looking at him now. 

“Why do I do what?” Martin asked after a few seconds, prompting Jon. “Ask me. I don’t mind, honestly. It isn’t— it doesn’t feel bad, really. And if I know it’s coming, I won’t mind so much.” 

Jon was quiet, mortified by what Martin was offering to put himself through. He didn’t want this for them, there was no future in this. Not that there was any future, with Jon the way he was. 

“Does it make you feel better?” Martin asked softly, placing a hand on top of Jon’s hand, “when I answer questions?” 

Jon wanted so badly to lie, but the moment he looked into Martin’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t. 

“Yes.” 

Martin nodded, understanding. “Ask me, Jon.” 

Jon wanted to resist, wanted to show Martin he was strong— but he couldn’t do it. It was like seeing water in a desert. 

“ **Why do you put your hands in front of your mouth like that?** ” As soon as the question left his mouth, he felt disgusted with himself. 

“I hate when people see me eat,” Martin said slowly, “I feel like a pig if I’m eating in front of someone. Force of habit, really.” 

Jon felt a sense of relief spread through him, an easing of the hunger he had felt for so long. He could hardly hide the breath of relief that escaped him as he felt even the slightest alleviation of pain throughout his body. As soon as this feeling passed, the weight of Martin’s words hit him, and he felt a deep sadness sink into his stomach. 

“Martin…” Jon paused, unsure of how to gracefully handle the situation. If only he knew how to be nurturing, like Martin did. “You don’t eat like a pig. Or look like a pig.” 

This didn’t seem to be as comforting as Jon had hoped.

“Sorry, I— I’m not good— I’m not good with words,” Jon paused, looking Martin in the eyes of his own accord for what felt like the first time of that whole night. “You’re very handsome… I don’t want you to feel like you eating is anything to be ashamed of.” 

Martin’s face reddened in that way that Jon loved. _Is that for me_? He wondered perversely, then quickly erased the thought. _No, surely he’s blushing because he feels awkward, not because he feels complimented._

Jon cleared his throat awkwardly, returning his eyes to the statement in front of him, still unable to get the letters to stay still in front of him. 

“Ask me something else,” Martin said suddenly. Jon looked up, trying to repress the hungry part of him that wanted to ask a thousand questions all at once. 

“No, Martin, I don’t want to do that to you,” Jon said, his tired eyes showing everything he was feeling,  _ concern, desperation, hunger, longing— _

“I don’t mind, Jon,” he paused, “and besides… I’m guessing you’re having a hard time reading the statement, considering you only started to look better after I answered your question.” 

Jon was embarrassed that he was so easy to read. “Are… are you sure?” 

“Ask me again,” Martin said, smiling slightly at the implication. Jon breathed out an anxious breath. 

“ **Are you sure?** ” 

“Absolutely,” Martin said. Jon took another deep breath as even that helped to ease his migraine. 

“Okay…” Jon paused, thinking of the least invasive questions he could think of. It didn’t work if he wasn’t curious about the answer, so he couldn’t ask  _ what color are your socks?  _ Or  _ what did you have for breakfast today? _

“Are…  **are you afraid of me?** ” Jon asked, and immediately kicked himself for asking such an intense question. 

“Not at all, Jon,” he said his face contorting into one of severe concern. 

“ **Do you think I’m a monster?** ” Jon asked, unable to control himself. It was making him feel better, but suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from asking the questions that tortured him every night since he had woken from the coma. 

“Of course not, Jon!” Martin said, appalled at the question. 

“ **Do you think—,** ” Jon faltered, all of the sudden realizing he was crying again, “ **do you think I’m human?** ” 

The smallest hesitation came from Martin as he attempted to halt his own response, failing to do so. “Not… exactly,” Martin said, clearly trying to stop himself from saying it. His face lit up with distress as he realized the weight of what he had said. Jon’s hand shook fiercely as he scooted away from the desk, the impact of Martin’s honesty hurting him in a way he wasn’t expecting. 

“Jon— Jon wait— don’t be upset,” Martin said, reaching an arm out to stop Jon from getting up and moving away. Jon attempted to shake the hand off, but he wasn’t strong enough to resist Martin’s strength. Martin sounded desperate. 

“Please… please ask me if I care.” 

Jon felt hot tears fall from his eyes, no longer making any sort of attempt to save his dignity in front of Martin, not after the night they had had. 

“ **Do… do you care?”**

“Not at all.” 

* * *

Martin removed his head from the desk slowly, feeling a crease in his forehead where the sandwich bag had stuck to him. He felt incredibly stiff, realizing he had fallen asleep for nearly four hours. He looked over towards Jon, who was sleeping peacefully, his chair backed against the wall, his arms crossed over his torso. Martin smiled to himself— Jon looked infinitely better than he had yesterday. Color had returned to his face, his hands weren’t shaking, and he looked… peaceful. 

Martin remembered with a sort of affection how Jon had been so tentative to ask Martin questions, how he could see the pain leaving as soon as Martin answered his questions. He then remembered, with a sort of embarrassment, that he had confessed to Jon about his eating habit… how Jon had said  _ you’re very handsome… _ Martin tried not to think about it too much. Surely he was just being nice. 

Jon awoke with a start, eyes widening immediately. He looked over at Martin, and Martin offered a shy smile, knowing he must look fairly discombobulated, what with his hair sticking out in different directions.

“How are you feeling?” Martin asked. Jon rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat, clearly attempting to revive some sort of professionalism, although at this point that was out the window. 

“Better. You?” Jon asked, cautiously. Martin smiled. 

“I’m happy to see that you’re looking healthy again,” Martin said, unable to hide the joy he felt at seeing Jon return back to his usual self. 

Jon smiled— such a rare occurrence these days, enough so that Martin tried to memorize the creases in his cheeks, the way his eyes lit up— and began to stand up. 

“Martin… would you want to grab coffee with me?” 

Martin wanted nothing more.

* * *

Jon watched over Martin as he walked beside him, watching the way his cheeks reddened in the cold air. Martin was chatting away, and Jon was just happy to listen. 

He thought back to all of the times Martin had touched his shoulder, laced an arm around his waist, put a hand on top of his… Jon felt his heart beat faster just at the memory of it. He looked over towards Martin, watched as he excitedly talked about office gossip. 

“And really we all know she’s been slacking off to smoke cigarettes behind the institute every- every  _ five _ minutes!” 

Jon couldn’t help himself. He dropped his hand down, tried as subtly as he could to wrap his hand around Martin’s. Martin went silent the minute their hands touched, and Jon was too afraid to look and see what his reaction was. He looked away from him, off to the ground besides them, but they continued to walk. 

When Jon finally mustered the courage, he gazed at Martin. He felt a joy like no other when he saw Martin smiling back at him. 

_ “This all seems pretty human to me, wouldn’t you say?”  _ Martin’s words echoed in Jon’s head. 

Jon held on tighter, memorizing this moment as proof that there would always be a part of him that was human. Human enough. 


End file.
